


Our Souls are Connected

by spookyserpent



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alaska mention, Angst and Fluff, F/F, True Love, let them be happy, mentions death, mentions mental health, post-season 3, they kiss again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24570919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyserpent/pseuds/spookyserpent
Summary: “The point is this: I don’t want them. Not anymore. Not after all of this.”Oksana blinks at her, hand gripping her wrist so tightly. “What do you want Eve?”
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 128





	Our Souls are Connected

**Author's Note:**

> I love Killing Eve so much that it nearly kills me. 
> 
> Season 4 needs to be Eve and Villanelle living out their lives in Alaska - Prove me wrong... I bet you can’t. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

For a split second, she swears Villanelle won’t turn around. Her breath is lodged in her throat, eyes watering at the sight of Villanelle’s mustard yellow back. 

Eve watches, waits, prepares to spin on her own heel to head to her shitty apartment and cry when she sees it. She only spots it because she’s staring so hard at Villanelle’s back. The subtle shoulder shift. The head tilt. The freeze after a step. 

Then Villanelle slowly turns around, eyes widening and mouth slightly parting at the shock of Eve standing there. The sight nearly breaks Eve’s heart. Villanelle doesn’t think she’d turn around, she doesn’t think she’d matter to Eve. 

The space between them is charged. At opposite end of the bridge, they could not look more different. Villanelle in her mustard yellow dress, golden hair pulled back in a tight bun. Eve in her thick coat, black hair tumbling free past her shoulders. 

Yet they are so alike. Eve can see that now. Maybe, maybe she always saw it and just didn’t want to admit it. 

For her whole life, Eve has done what’s expected of her. She had an education, a job, a husband, friends and family that she smiled at and helped. She was good. She was normal. 

(And if she had thoughts, of darkness, of horror, of watching someone bleed and bleed and bleed, of running over those childhood bullies, of shattering delicate bone and disappearing into the ocean, the forest by her home, the other side of the world- well, no one needed to know.)

Even then, the smiles and the laughter and the kindness, Niko saw it. She knows he did. Because she had scars that she didn’t want to explain, had a fascination with serial killers and horror movies, had an arrogance, a manipulative and vindictive tendency before it could be hidden. 

He knew. He just didn’t want to believe. 

And Eve, she thought she was fine with the pretending. It came as easy as breathing. 

Until Villanelle. 

Villanelle with her sharp features and golden hair and cheeky smirk. She drifted in like a breath of fresh air and suddenly, like a rush, Eve realised that she had been drowning before that. Villanelle was murder and mayhem tied up together in stunning outfits and cat-like elegance. 

Ever since that moment in the hospital - and even before that, the first time she saw the kills - Eve felt connected to her like a piece of her soul that she’d lost, or maybe never had, finally slotting into place. 

“Did I ruin your life?” Villanelle had asked, concern paired with amusement flooding her tone and Eve couldn’t help but think of her life before and after. 

Before, the world was coated in black and white. She lived because that’s what people did. 

After, the world was plastered with colour, with brightest and life. She lived because she finally felt alive. 

It was chaos. Bill died and with his death, a part of her died too. Niko left her but his absence was more of a blessing than a curse; she’d never had him in the first place. Kenny’s death was sudden and horrid and she could feel the cracks in her still. 

She had Carolyn, a woman who had clawed herself to the top, who fought and fought because it was the right thing to do, who lost her son and instead of breaking under the pressure, decided to shoot the man responsible. 

Then there was Konstantin, a man who was more trouble than good but in a strange way still family. He was there with Kenny. Eve cannot decide if he was responsible or if Kenny had made that decision for himself. 

In the end, none of them mattered like Villanelle did. Hell, Eve had killed someone for the woman, had stabbed her, had been shot by her, had helped her in a round about way to kill another person. 

Her eyes find Villanelle’s. Her mouth is closed now, head tilted curiously. They’re at an impasse. 

But Eve is tired of running, from her feelings, from Villanelle, from her self. 

At first, she found the woman because she wanted revenge for Bill. She can still remember the heat of her blood spilling onto her hands from the knife she plunged into her stomach. 

Then Villanelle shot her because Eve couldn’t make up mind, and knew that no matter what she wanted from Villanelle, being an object to be desired, to be owned, was not one of them. 

Now, now Villanelle has given her a choice. The possessiveness is gone. She’s willing to let Eve go. 

But Eve can’t. She could blame it on the Twelve, the need for justice and answers, for them to be stopped, even killed. 

The Twelve are only part of the reason. 

The main reason is the woman opposite her. 

Eve wants to know everything: her past, her worries, her fears, her favourite foods. 

(There are also the things she won’t say, at least not out loud. She wants to know the feel of her, of her skin, the taste of her lips - she remembers how soft they were from the bus - but she wants more, needs more, she’s practically aching with it-) 

Villanelle is still watching her, confusion and concern shifting her features around. Eve knows what she has to. 

The sky is dark, she can still see Paul with the bullet hole in his head, Carolyn with the gun, Konstantin’s terrified face as he kneeled. People continue to pass them by, unaware and unknowing, ignorant and normal. 

Eve takes a step forward and Villanelle’s eyes light up, lips quirking at the sides. She remains still though, goading Eve into moving, unwilling and unrelenting. 

Eve takes another step, watches the disbelief flood the other woman’s eyes. She wants Villanelle, in any and all ways. She’ll take anything she can get. 

Eve takes another step. Then another. Then another. Until she can’t stop. Until she’s practically running across the bridge. Until she’s standing in front of Villanelle, panting and high off of emotions she can’t name. 

“You are annoying,” she starts and Villanelle quirks an eyebrow at her, “and crazy and a psychopath.” 

“You are stubborn,” Villanelle parrots, in her smooth Russian accent, with a hint of awe and smugness in her tone, “and reckless and probably a psychopath too.” 

Eve stares at her, huffs a laugh and reaches up a shaking hand to cup the side of Villanelle’s face, soft skin beneath her palm. Villanelle freezes, eyes wide and vulnerable. 

“I have lost two jobs, a husband and a best friend because of you.” Eve repeats from the first confrontation she had with Villanelle and hastens to continue at the flare of sadness that overtakes her expression, “Kenny is dead, Carolyn is on the war path and Konstantin is skipping town and most definitely the country.” 

“Cuba.” Villanelle adds, still closed off. “I still don’t know why Cuba when Alaska is much prettier.” 

Eve shakes her head. “That’s not the point, Villanelle-“

Villanelle grabs her wrist. “Oksana. Call me Oksana. Please.” 

Eve nods, doesn’t try to fight against the harsh grip. “Oksana, then.” She pretends not to notice the shudder Oksana gives, the way her eyes slip closed. “That’s not the point.” 

She breathes out, feels the heat radiating from Oksana’s cheek, watches the flutter of her eyelashes and can’t help when she dips her gaze to her lips. 

“The point is this: I don’t want them. Not anymore. Not after all of this.”

Oksana blinks at her, hand gripping her wrist so tightly. “What do you want Eve?” 

There are millimetres between them, the seconds stretch and blur. Eve can’t see whether the stars are out but with Oksana here, close and warm, she doesn’t care. 

She doesn’t care about Niko and his judgments, doesn’t care about Carolyn’s confusion about their connection, doesn’t care about the Twelve. 

Eve cares about Oksana, the tortured woman in front of her, the psychopath with an extensive kill list to her name, the monster that fuels her monster. 

Here and now, she doesn’t look like a monster. She looks ethereal. Wide eyes and golden hair and sharp smile. 

Eve breathes out, pushes ever closer until their lips touch. Oksana is tense but Eve has something to prove. She wraps her free arm around the blonde’s slim waist and pulls her closer until Oksana lifts a hand to gently tug at her hair

It’s a fleeting drag of contact but something bursts inside of her. Eve feels light, her lips buzzing from the contact. She wants and wants and wants. 

The kiss is over too quickly but they have time. They have so much time because Eve wants this so goddamn much and the hand tightening in her hair proves that Oksana wants this just as much. 

The Twelve and Carolyn and Konstantin can wait. She has Oksana in her arms and that’s all that matters. 

When they break, foreheads resting against each other, Oksana murmurs, voice scared and small and so, so vulnerable, “what do you want, Eve?” 

Eve blinks up at her, at Oksana, at the woman who has changed everything, who has opened Eve’s eyes and made her feel something. 

Eve smiles, small but content. Standing on London Bridge, in the arms of Oksana, she murmurs back, full of warmth and happiness and absolute certainty, “you.”


End file.
